Giving up
by Secre
Summary: Harry is at the end of his rope; he's no saviour, he's just a frightened and hurting adolescent who has been asked to do too much. The prophecy was the last straw. Can McGonagall do something now? Or is it too late? Warning: Suicide, SH, child abuse, other dark things like that.
1. Chapter 1

I promise in advance that anything I write here is not going to mess up progression on my other piece _I Did Nothing_. This is not by any stretch a replacement fic and the other one is definitely not abandoned, it's just this came into my mind and was messing with my work on the _I Did Nothing_. So I wrote it up. Warnings in advance: Suicidal ideation, Suicidal attempt/s, depression, child abuse, potential self harm and pretty darn dark things like that. If you think you will be triggered please don't read, but if I think there is a specific trigger in a chapter I will put a specific bold trigger warning in them because I'm nice like that.

As per usual, all reviews are very much appreciated and a huge motivation to keep writing! *hint hint*

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**Trigger warning: Suicide attempt**

Loud persistent banging on my door at some godforsaken time in the morning is never a good sign. In fact, in these dark and troubled times it would usually be classed as an exceptionally bad sign. It is either a sign that something has gone really, really wrong or otherwise a sign that whichever students are engaging in that particular activity are going to be in one hell of a lot of trouble. If I'm honest, part of me is severely tempted to just roll over and ignore it but I can't for several reasons. Firstly, the last time this happened Arthur Weasley was an inch from death and only the quick actions of students and staff alike saved him. Secondly, my students would have to be fools beyond imagination or belief to disturb me at this sort of time without a startlingly good reason and thirdly because joining the bangings of fists against my door is a chorus of voices shouting 'Professor' and 'Please' in a cacophony of voice that could wake the dead. I recognise those voices.

With several mumbled curses I stagger out of bed, grabbing my tartan robe from the side as I do so and fitting my feet into equally tartan slippers. By the sounds of the ruckus outside my door, this is not an appropriate time to shuffle around looking for a decent set of clothing or careful tying of my bun. As I stagger to the door I feel the increasingly present tightening of my chest; my ever present reminder of the tenure of one of our more unpleasant colleagues and one of the many occasions I have been grateful in recent years for the curse on that particular post. Or so I tell myself at least as I wince. It can't be fear starting to tighten its grip on me, although with everything that's happening now that would not be an unreasonable reaction I suppose.

I swing the door open, ignoring the fact that my portrait has sulkily moved over to this side of the door in order to avoid the pounding on the other side. It's no great surprise to find Granger and Weasley outside; this was bound to have something to do with Potter, most unexpected things do. I have a great deal of affection for the boy but it is an unavoidable fact that chaos follows him like goblins follow galleons. It's more of a shock to find the entire gaggle of sixth year boys standing there in varying states of dishevelment and barely restrained hysteria. All of them except one. Before I can say a word Granger speaks and there is no mistaking the fear and panic that lie closely behind her words.

"Professor, it's Harry. You have to find him. Please. Please, Professor. You have to find him."

For a fraction of a section I feel an extreme irritation that I have been awakened due to a simple case of a student out of bed, even if it is Potter. But whatever words I was going to say to that effect die in my throat as I look around the rag tag group of students in front of me. Tears are falling down Granger's face without her seeming to even notice them, I could count the freckles that are standing out on Weasley's face and Longbottom is so pale he looks about to faint. Finnigan and Thomas don't look much better. They all look like terrified children, rather than the sixteen year olds they are. My chest tightens sharply.

"What…"

I'm interrupted again, this time by Weasley stumbling forward clutching a piece of parchment in his hands. Hands which are shaking alarmingly. He looks at me beseechingly as he holds it and I take it from him slowly. In that look I can see his fear, his helplessness, and his need for me to fix whatever is wrong.

By the time I am two lines in my heart is beating erratically and I start the staff alarm going with a shaky movement of my wand. By three lines in I've upped that alarm to one of the highest priority calls and added both my personal signature as well as the signature of Deputy Headmistress. That alarm will wake every member of staff up and is a call that we very rarely have to use. I have effectively used the 'all staff to my quarters, student in danger'. As I keep reading I add the extra harsh charms that should bring everybody running; 'Mortal danger. Student down. Medical assistance required.' If that doesn't move them; nothing will. That should merit a firecall to St. Mungo's for extra hands in case they are required from Poppy.

"Well!? Aren't you going to do something!?"

Finnigan's words break through my haze as I stare at the letter in my hands. A letter I never thought I would be reading. A letter that has shaken me to my core.

**_Dear Ron and Hermione_**

**_I'm so so sorry for leaving this burden to you but I don't have anyone else. I don't know if I even still have you. But I'm sorry I couldn't tell you, I'm sorry that this is going to hurt you so much, I never wanted to hurt you._**

"I just have," I respond shakily, not even registering the lack of respect in the teenagers tone or words. Now is not the time. "I cannot do anything on my own, we have an entire castle to search. I have sent a full scale alarm out to all staff. They should be here shortly." A thought crosses my mind briefly, hopefully. "Unless you know where he is?"

**_By the time you read this I will be dead._**

A harsh, helpless laugh erupts from Weasley.

"He took the map and his cloak. He could be anywhere and we can't even see him!" His tone is harsh but it's due to the desperation and helplessness I can see in his face. Damn Albus to hell for giving the boy that cloak.

"Please, Professor. You have to find him," Granger sobs.

**_I'm sorry. I'm not a saviour, I'm not a hero, I'm not the golden boy and I can't be the boy-who-lived anymore. I'm not even a good friend. If I was I wouldn't be writing this, I wouldn't be thinking this, I wouldn't have lied to you. I am sorry. So so sorry._**

The words I have read are resonating through my mind like a badly tuned tuning fork, shattering my heart with their implications. I have no idea where the boy has gone and I have no idea how we are going to find him. Part of me desperately hopes that this is just a bid for attention, but I don't think it is. He could have done that any time in the last two years when everything seemed to turn against him and we sat back and let the world bay for his blood. He could have tried a sympathy bid then. He didn't. I don't think he's joking. But I have no idea how to find him. There are hundreds of rooms in the castle, some which I don't even know of. There's the outside grounds. There's the lake, the forest, the Quidditch Pitch, the courtyard, the Astronomy Tower. How are we going to find an invisible child who could be dying as I stand here? But I can't tell these kids that. I'm the only hope they have left.

**_I'm sorry. I know I keep saying it, but that's because I need you to know it's true. I can't do this anymore and if I'd have told anyone you'd have tried to stop me. I can't allow that. This is the end. I can't hold on anymore. I can't be what everyone expects me to be. I can't be the one they hate or adore because of this jagged scar on my head. I can't be the pawn or the saviour. I can't cope anymore._**

The staff start to arrive in a hurried rush in various states of undress and dishevelment; even Severus is moving more quickly than his usual slow, careful stride. It's not often that call is sent out and it isn't one that's taken lightly, even Binns should be down at some point and he pays attention to virtually nothing. The looks on the faces range from confusion to concern and I suddenly don't know what to say, I have no idea how to explain the crushing fear that has taken over my chest, that's making it so difficult to say.

Filius is the first to speak as he looks at me sharply and then at the group of panicked teenagers huddled in front of my door.

"Minerva, what's wrong? What's the emergency?"

**_Please try not to hate me for what I've done. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to cause you pain. I just want it all to stop; I need it all to end. Please don't blame yourselves; you could not have stopped this, you could have done nothing to prevent me from dying and if I didn't do it tonight it would be tomorrow, or the day after. I can't hold on anymore, I am not strong enough. Please don't judge me too harshly._**

I can see the concern glinting in the smaller man's eyes as he looks at me. I shake my head wordlessly and just hand the letter over to the Charms Master. I don't know how to say how far we have failed this sixteen year old boy who has chosen death over life, I don't know how to say how slim a chance we have at finding him before it's too late. I watch Filius' face as it moves from confusion at just being handed a letter, to concern, to comprehension and when he looks back up I can see the fear that mirrors my own feelings exactly. He takes charge, slamming the letter into the hands of Severus as he casts _Sonurus_ on himself.

"We need to find Harry Potter. He's going to…" he stops hesitantly before closing his eyes and building his resolve. "He's disappeared and left a suicide note."

**_I've tried to be strong for so long. I've tried to be the saviour. I saved the stone, I saved Ginny, I saved Sirius. But I killed Cedric by my actions and I killed Sirius by my stupidity. I've been strong for too long and now I'm broken. I'm broken and I'm shattered and I can't be the saviour Dumbledore needs. I can't do it. I can't even save myself. Give me something good, something precious, something valuable, unique or special and I will break it._** **_Love me, care for me, protect me or comfort me and I will destroy you. I will break you. I may love you but I will still break you._**

"The idiot boy won't do anything," the snide drawl of Severus comes from the side of the hallway. "He's just an attention seeking brat looking for the attention."

"No, he's not Professor!" The voice of Granger rises through the deafening chaos around us. "He's not! He's not been right since…since…Sirius."

Her voice cracks on the last word and I realise suddenly she is completely right and who could blame him. The boy was run through a gauntlet of horrors for four years, watched another boy die, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named come back from the dead, was derided and hated for another year and then watched the death of a man he loved dearly. And he felt it was his fault. Why did none of us see him? Why did none of us approach him and ask? How didn't we see this coming? How did we miss so much

**_I know I'm not worth anything. I am nothing. The only thing I'm good at it causing chaos and destruction. You look at me but don't see me. Only Professor Snape sees what I really am. You look at me and see something worth saving. There isn't anything left, I don't know if there ever was. I've hung on because I didn't want to hurt you, I didn't want to cause you so much pain, so much guilt. I can't hold on anymore. I don't want to and I can't._**

I find my voice suddenly as I glare death at Severus.

"Is that really a conversation to be having now, Severus?" I snap angrily. "If you're right, you're right. If you're wrong we have a boy who could be bleeding to death at this very moment. Are you willing to take that risk? Are you willing to have that death on your conscience?" He pales as he recognising what I'm saying. Despite appearances to the contrary on occasions the man does have a brain. "We need to find him!"

"But how are we going to do that?" Poppy asks in dismay, not noticing the way the teenagers seem to curl up on themselves. "He could be anywhere…""

Tell me something I don't know.

"We split up and search every wing of the castle top to bottom as well as the outside grounds," I say briskly ignoring the fear in my heart. "We will find him, we have to find him." I look at Filius. "Filius you take the ground, the _Point-Me _charm will work much better outside in the open and you are the most proficient."

**_Please tell Professor McGonagall not to blame herself; it's not her fault, it's mine. I could have gone to her but didn't, I could have asked for help right from first year, but didn't. I hid everything from her; she can't blame herself. That wouldn't be fair. It's not your faults either, either of you. I promise you that. And apologise to Professor Dumbledore for me would you? I can't do what he needs, I can't be what he needs. I'm just not strong enough. _**

As members of staff start moving off in small groups to start the impossible task of searching an entire castle before one boy kills himself, the Weasley boy lets out a triumphant shout and I turn around to see what's excited him so much.

"The house elves," he gasps excitedly to my complete confusion, but Granger seems to understand what he's getting at. "DOBBY!" he shouts without any warning. "DOBBY! HARRY NEEDS YOU!"

Just when I'm trying to figure out whether the stress and worry has actually managed to send the youngster insane and what to do about it an astonishing figure appeared out of nowhere right in front of my feet. I say astonishing because I have never seen so many socks on a creature so small and frankly they all clashed with the hideous jumper he was wearing or the tea cozy on his head.

"Harry's Weezy calls Dobby?" the elf said squeakily looking in obvious bemusement at the rather random array of teachers and staff cluttering up the hallway. He looks around closely. "Where is Dobby's friend Harry Potter? The Weezy hasn't left his Harry has he?"

**_I'm sorry for all the promises I made that I couldn't keep. I'm sorry for all the lies that I have told and all the people who have been hurt by them. I'm sorry. That's all I can say. And yet, I know it can never be enough. I'm sorry for all the times I've dragged those of you I care about into my world of chaos, pain and hurt. I'm sorry for all the times when because of me, you ended up in the firing line, you ended up being hurt._**

"Harry is in grave danger, Dobby," Ron says quickly. "He might be dying. He will die if we don't save him."

The little elf gasps in horror and starts jumping around distractedly in clear and obvious distress. I note that Weasley is actually subtle enough not to mention why Potter might be dying and wonder how close an attachment this elf has formed to my student. And again, how I was completely unaware of it.

"No! Master Potter must not die! Harry Potter can't leave his Weezey. Where is Harry Potter?"

"That's what we don't know, Dobby," Ron explains breathlessly and I wonder where he's going with this. What can one elf do? "Can the house elves help us look, Dobby? Will they do that? There's more of them than us and we need to search every room for Harry." He looks at the small creature searchingly then adds as an afterthought. "He might be invisible as well."

This didn't seem to faze the creature who started jumping up and down excitedly.

"Dobby will find Harry Potter. Dobby will get all the elves to help. Weezey wait here."

He cracks off immediately and I am starting to understand. Nobody, not even Albus, knows how many elves we have in the castle. If every one of them can search…the Weasley boy may well be a genius.

**_I'm sorry, I'm through._**

Suddenly the hall is filled with thousands of small creatures cracking in and out of view as Dobby seems to be giving orders to them then pointing at me. If it hadn't have been so serious I would have found it funny, never in my life would I have thought to see an army of house elves. I certainly wouldn't have thought to enlist their help.

After minutes that seemed like hours there was another sharp crack and an elf almost landed on my feet.

"Cora has found the young Master," it squeaks at me. "Master is not in good shape, Cora is sorry for being so slow, Cora will iron her fingers."

"Never mind about that," I say impatiently. "Can you take us to him?" I indicate myself, Poppy and Severus both of whom have summoned their respective kits.

"Cora can take you. No other Master will get in without help. Young Master has refused entry. Cora can though."

I sigh in relief as I grab the completely shell shocked form of Poppy Pomfrey who has been staring in amazement at the complete chaos of small bodies around the corridor along with Severus who is now looking very pale indeed. Apparently he really believed his previous words and now they've come back to bite him. I have little sympathy or patience. We need to get to the boy.

**_I love you. Please don't hate me._**

**_Harry James Potter_**

As soon as I've grabbed them the small form cracks us all out of the hallway with a feeling disconcertingly like apparition but distinctly, nauseatingly different. And then suddenly we're in a room I don't recognise. It has a huge bath in the middle of it but I can't see Potter anywhere. I look at the elf questioningly.

"Cora thinks this room is called the Room of Requirement. Young Master is in the bath."

We all move towards the huge tub and my heart is in my mouth. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe one of my students has done this. I can't believe the boy who I have come to love for himself rather than as Lily's son could be lying dead in that bath. I don't want to do this. I can hear my ragged breathing and the similar sounds coming from the two beside me. Severus has seem much death, but never on school property. Never one he has so much to blame himself for. Less than me perhaps though. Less than me.

I see the blood before I see the boy.

Please don't be dead. Please let us save you. Please don't be dead.

I drop to my knees retching as Poppy and Severus rush forwards as once. He's one of mine. One of mine did this to himself and I didn't stop him. I didn't notice. I did nothing.

Please Harry, please don't be dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Many thanks for all the reviews; it really is much appreciated and as I said before is a huge incentive to keep writing *hint* *hint*.

Yes, I know this one is a lot darker and more scary than _I Did Nothing_ but periodically my brain takes very dark turns and this is the kind of resultant writing that comes with that. The next chapter I post will definitely be for _I Did Nothing_ and will be nowhere near as triggery (I have just invented the word triggery before you comment) as this is - I know I've written something triggery when I manage to even trigger myself as I did with the last chapter. And many thanks again for all the reviews - doc-blu; yep that is exactly what I was going for and I am very glad I succeeded in my aim.

Btw - I am considering a chapter from Harry's perspective when he snuck out but don't know whether that'll be too triggery even for this. Feedback would be good.

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**Trigger Warning: Suicide attempt  
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There's so much blood, just so much blood. I wouldn't have thought one body could have held so much, much less that you could lose so much. He can't be alive, not when so much of his life is spilt. It's not possible. We're too late. Poppy and Severus grab the boy from the tub as if he weighs nothing and set him on the floor, frantically working to try to save him but I am just on my hands and knees retching. We've lost him. How could I have failed this child so badly? How could I have let things go so, so very wrong? I thought he was strong, that he'd coped so well with everything, never seeing the scared and breaking child who was my ward. The words from his letter flash before my eyes and I can't help the sobs that erupt from my chest. How could I have let this happen? He can't die. He can't.

**_By the time you read this I will be dead._**

From my near prone position on the floor I can see how pale the child is, he's as white as pure snow and there's an odd look of peace on his face which seems completely at odds with the carnage of the room around him. Poppy doesn't need any diagnostics to know what the problem is; the problem would appear to be the two gaping wounds all the way down the inside of his inner arms. They're too precise to be the work of any knife or razor; it's got to be a carefully aimed and forceful cutting charm. Not something to toy with idly. This was certainly no attention seeking bid. The boy wasn't taking chances; a late night escape, a hidden room somehow charmed so nobody could get in except the house elves and one of the most effective cutting methods I can think of. We are going to lose him.

"You are not dying on me now, you insufferable brat," the words are right but the tone is wrong; it's too harsh and there's a rare fear there which is most unlike the man. Severus isn't insulting the boy as much as he is desperately trying to will away the fear that is taking over him as much as it has taken over me. His face is as white as I have ever seen it and his fear that he won't be able to save the boy this time is clear in his shaking hands and the thickness of his voice. "I've saved your selfish hide too many times to let you go like this. Breathe, goddammit. Just breathe."

**_Please tell Professor McGonagall not to blame herself; it's not her fault, it's mine. I could have gone to her but didn't, I could have asked for help right from first year, but didn't. I hid everything from her; she can't blame herself._**

What should he have told me in first year? What else did I miss that has led to the child in front of me throwing away his life in such a tragic and futile manner? What was he hiding from me then that I was too wrapped up in school business to notice? I know that if we lose him, I can't teach anymore. I won't be able to look at the faces around me and not see this broken, bleeding child that I failed so badly. I won't be able to go around pretending to be strong when my failure led to the completely futile death of a young man with so much potential and life in him. The death of Harry Potter, a boy who has already come through so much only to give up now.

I feel a light touch on my arm and turn to see the house elf looking straight at me.

"Mistress must open the door. That is the only way for the young Master to live. Mistress wants young Master to live, yes?"

"Yes," I choke out. "Yes, I want Harry to live!"

The medi-witch and the Potions Master are still frantically trying to resuscitate the child lying in a pool of his own blood, blood which he spilled himself in despair and hopelessness. Poppy is getting blood replenishment potions and who knows what else down him at a rapid rate whilst Severus is pounding on the boy's chest in some muggle display that I don't understand. But it's clear that they are fighting a losing battle; without the quickness of the house elves we wouldn't even stand this much of a chance but they can't keep this effort up much longer and the boy is still completely unresponsive.

"Yes! I can't let Harry die!" My voice is desperate as I watch the battle for life playing in out in front of my very eyes. The battle for a such a brave, courageous, generous and sacrificing boy, the battle for a boy I love. "What do I have to do? Tell me, please!"

The house elf looks at me seriously before responding.

"Mistress can do it. Cora will bring the other Masters to the door but Mistress must open the door."

"How do I do that!?" I respond frantically, real honest fear overtaking me. I have a chance to help him and I don't know what to do. "You said Harry had sealed it from us."

"Young Master did. But this is the Room of Requirement. It is what you needs it to be." The elf is looking at me as if I were a small child who is being instructed in something basic that I should already know. "You musts speak to the Hogwarts, Mistress must open her magic and speak. This place it will help you, it has strong magic. It is responding to the young Masters will but it doesn't want the child to die. It cries out for him. You must speaks to it. Dobby will hurt if anything happens to his Harry. This is how you save him."

That is the longest speech I have ever heard a house elf give and it is clear that she meant every word of it. She has the way to save my child and has just given it to me except I have no idea what she wants me to do. I have to try though. I have to try. If this is the way to save Harry then I will have to do it. I will have to find a way or die trying.

"Cora will gets the other Masters. Mistress must open her magic. It is the only way." She looks down at her feet for a fraction of a second before putting her hand on a fair approximation of where the heart is before continuing. "It is here. Mistress must look here." With that last remark she cracks out of the room again.

**_I'm sorry, I'm through._**

No, Harry. You are not through. You are not through at all. I promise you that. I focus all my energy and concentrate fiercely as I feel it wash through me. But I can't feel anything but my own magic, my own energy. Nothing at all. I can't help wondering whether the elf is just crazy, I mean Albus has mentioned before that the castle has a life of its own but the way she portrayed it the castle might as well have been sentient. Sentient. And then I have it.

If I'm reaching out to another sentient magical being with energy I don't stay within myself, that would be pointless. I have to reach out, propel my energy towards the object of my attention. So hastily raising a shield around the three figures in a frantic battle between life and death, I do exactly that. I push out, more than a probe, more than a tentative expression of interest or attempt to gain attention. I propel my energy out around me, searching, seeking, probing. I can see the look of complete shock on Poppy's face as she watches the magical energy suddenly flying around the room, but I pay her no heed. Severus is too focused on what he's doing, which I finally realised were an attempt to get the boys heart beating to even notice the change in atmosphere.

And then I find it and I nearly lose hold on my magic completely. It's like nothing I have ever felt in my life before and the elf was right, it is reaching out to Harry. More than just calling, more than crying it is pulsing through the boy and I am almost certain that in its own way it is doing its best to keep the boy alive, but it can't do it alone. The help that it has given is probably the only reason we still have any chance at all though. With a surge of determination I propel my desperation, fear, helplessness and love for the boy lying in front of us at it in waves that pound through it like a tidal wave. The presence doesn't change in any recognisable way but somehow I get the impression that it recognises me, it recognises what I am trying to say. Praying to any God I can think of I keep the relentless waves of emotion; guilt, pain, heartbreak and my desperation to save the child flowing but I know that I'm missing something. _It is what you needs it to be_. That's what the elf had said. Potter needed a safe haven where no-one could find him, no-one could save him, no-one could reach him. He needed a place to die in peace. I need the complete opposite.

So I add in the image of the open door, of medics being able to reach us and the boy being helped. I add in all of the memories I have of that cold and white boy on the floor, not as he is now but as he always has been. His hair flapping all over the place as he laughed and joked with his friends, the way he whipped through the air on that Firebolt whooping for joy in sheer childish abandon. Tears are streaming down my face as I hurl memory after memory at this presence, what Harry is and what I want to bring back. The triumphant child who stormed into my office with a bloody sword in one hand whilst tightly clutching another child we all thought we'd lost forever in another, the young man battling through challenge after challenge and never faltering. The way he'd hug Sirius without shame, his shy smile when he got something right and the way mischief would glitter in those sparkling emerald eyes just like his mothers. I remember his courage, his intelligence, his selflessness and his sacrifices. All the memories I can find. The boy we love, the boy we need to save. That is what I need. That is what I require.

But somehow the images change without warning and I'm not the one in charge of what memories I'm seeing anymore. I just about keep a grip on the waves of emotion I'm casting but not without significant difficulty. Suddenly I'm seeing I small child huddled and crying in the darkness of what looks like a closet, bruises on his face and terror in those emerald eyes. I'm seeing that same young adult I pictured being pushed and hurt by someone four times his size, unable to do anything about it. I'm seeing the teenager watching Sirius fall through that veil and the complete grief and despair that comes with it, the guilt and the pain that overwhelmed him. I watch as he cuts lies into his own hand whilst I turn him away. I see tears rolling down a teenagers face as he sits alone in a bathroom contemplating a blade in silence. I see how he closes his eyes as he picks up and puts it against the pale skin and almost lovingly pulls it across. I can see the loneliness, the fear, the pain and the isolation. This is the boy that I never saw, this is the child I didn't help, the teenager I failed. I'm gasping for air but I repel the memories backwards. I understand. It kills me but I understand. I understand why he felt he had nothing to live for, why he couldn't cope anymore, why life didn't seem worth it. Death was easier. Death was peace. But I can't let that stop me.

**_I'm broken and I'm shattered and I can't be the saviour Dumbledore needs. I can't do it. I can't even save myself._**

I regain my balance and open my soul; my love and my fear, my protectiveness and my desire to change things and spread it wide not knowing if it is enough, if it will work, not knowing if I stand a chance. But I have to try. I can't let him die. And then without warning the door slams open and my magic drops as if it never existed leaving me disorientated and breathless but I catch a last parting hint of something I can't quite name. Almost expectant. The rush through the door is astounding; Cora really did get everyone she thought might be helpful. St. Mungo's workers stream through the door, Albus is not far behind looking so much older and wearier than I have ever seen him which is quite impressive at his age. I don't know how long they've been standing outside that door but being on the other side not knowing whether you were already too late and having to just wait must have been one of the hardest experiences of Albus' long life. Despite everything I know he loves the boy dearly and this will have hit him hard. He starts towards me but is interrupted by a high pitched shout behind him.

"Mistress did it! Mistress did it!" a small form shoots past the group assembled to keep gawkers away from the scene without effort and I'm almost knocked over as it barrels into my knees, clutching on tightly. "Mistress saved Dobby's Harry! Mistress did it!"

I look down in complete bewilderment as the elf with the tea cosy on its head attaches itself to my knees with an oddly strong grip for something so small. Tears are streaming down its face gracelessly and I can feel the entirety of the small form shuddering violently against my knees. I look over at Albus for suggestion but his attention has been caught by the frighteningly small and pale form of Harry being magicked onto a stretcher as the medics bustle around him authoritively. Severus has to be forcibly propelled away from the boy, so unwilling is he to stop his routine of chest compressions for even a fraction of a second. He stands looking completely lost for a moment before collapsing next to the bath with his head in his hands and I can see his violent tremors from here. We almost lost him. We might still lose him. That seems to be the thoughts resounding through everyone's mind.

I watch stunned as they move the boy out the room . Harry. One of mine. So white, so small, so…peaceful looking. It's frightening when I realise I haven't seen him look so relaxed and at peace for such a long time, possibly even years. I've seen him studious, angry, worried, terrified, heart-broken and grieving but I haven't seen him look so relaxed in such a long time I barely recognise the expression on his face. That alone says more about me than I like to contemplate.

"You saved Dobby's friend, Harry Potter. Dobby's friend!" The small creature still attached to my legs has progressed into full on hysterical sobbing and is shaking so hard I fear it might fall over. Clearly the other elf had told him exactly what state Harry was in when she found him. I do the only thing I can think of. I kneel down and put my arms around the small creature, very much aware of how much I'm shaking as well. It freezes up for a moment before collapsing in hysterics. "The Professor touched Dobby. The Professor hugs Dobby. Dobby does not deserve…Dobby is…"

Kneeling down fully by the quivering creature attached to my I tighten my grip on the hysterical elf. Then I do something I would never have imagined myself doing, even in my wildest dreams. I put a single finger under his chin, gently forcing it up to look at me and I meet those large, wet, green eyes.

"No Dobby," I say softly. "You saved Mister Potter today, not me." His eyes glaze up again and I tighten my hold on the trembling creature further. "Had it not been you and all the rest of the elves we would have stood no chance of finding Mister Potter until it was far too late. As it is we're not certain that we were successful, but without your help it would have been a completely futile effort. We would have lost Harry forever and it is only due to your quick reactions and assistance that we didn't. I can honestly say that we cannot thank you enough."

That appears to be the final straw for the poor thing and he breaks free of my grip violently to fling himself sobbing onto the floor. I sink gratefully to the ground as well suddenly aware of how fast my heart is beating and how erratically; Potter has given me many occasions for near heart attacks over the years but I do believe he's exceeded himself this time. Even vanishing to have a stand-off with a basilisk can't compete with how I feel at this moment. In fact I'd take two basilisks, an escaped mass-murderer and a dragon at the same time over how I feel now. Tears roll down my cheeks and I find myself sobbing as I clutch my chest; Minerva McGonagall crying in company? Now that's about as unusual as Severus laughing.

**_I love you. Please don't hate me._**

How could I ever hate him? My wonderful, fool-hardy, brash and brilliant Gryffindor who has put more years on my life than any of the other students combined. The boy who killed a basilisk, who saved a man everyone thought was evil, who rushed into battle regardless of the danger because he truly believed someone he loved was in danger. How could I hate him? So many times over the years I could have shaken him until I heard his brains rattle but I could never hate him. Not the boy who still remembered to bring Cedric's body back despite being in a battle for his life, not the child who knocked out a twelve foot mountain troll simply because another student was in danger. Another student he didn't even like at the time. How could I hate a child with such a wonderful, sweet soul? How could I have lost him?

"How are you holding up, Minerva?"

I look up to find the kindly gaze of Filius looking down on me in obvious concern but I can't find any words to answer him so simply shake my head mutely.

"Potter's in the best of hands now," he says reassuringly sitting on the ground beside me and resting a hand gently on my shoulder. "There's nothing more you can do."

"We nearly lost him," I choke out with difficulty. "We might still lose him." I can barely breathe as the realisation once again comes crashing down on me. "Filius, we might still lose him."

Fear tightens in my chest like a binding spell and I find I can barely breathe past it. We've had attempted suicides or averted suicides before of course but not like this; not so premeditated and so abrupt. Not so near successful. Because without a shadow of a doubt if the kids hadn't found that note so early, if Weasley hadn't thought up that house elf idea or if we'd been just half an hour later we'd have found a dead body with no chance at all of reviving him. He meant to be successful. He really meant to kill himself. That thought in itself is seriously shocking; that a sixteen year old boy in my care was that desperate, that alone and that desperate that he made the conscious decision to end his life. He didn't come to me for help; he didn't trust me to do anything. He took it into his own hands. And it must have been a real need for this room to provide for him; the Room of Requirement. It becomes what you need. And he needed an escape. He wanted out. For a sixteen year old to choose that? How did I not see the signs?

I realise Filius has left me and look around vaguely for him then see he's speaking with one of the medics. He comes back with a vial which he pushes into my unresisting hands.

"Drink this Minerva, it'll help." He watches me as I down the potion without hesitation or even a single thought process. Almost immediately I feel my chest start to loosen and my breathing even out. Calming Draught and a pretty potent one by the feel of it. I sag against Filius' shoulder as I feel my mind go blissfully clear and I vaguely note another healer pouring a similar concoction down Severus' throat. He looks up briefly and I can see the deep sense of shame and loss in those dark eyes without looking too closely. If we lose Potter today I will not be the only one it destroys. Despite his words, Severus has sacrificed much for that boy.

"Right," Filius says forcefully when he sees the potion take full effect. "Up you get. I'll get you down to the Hospital Wing; you're in no fit state to go back to your quarters now."

I don't even bother complaining. At least in the Hospital Wing I'll be able to grab some Dreamless Sleep. If there's one thing I don't want to do tonight it's dream. I don't think the white face and blood everywhere will leave my mind for a long, long time to come.

"We may have to banish some children back to their dormitories though," Filius says almost conversationally as I stand unsteadily and start to move towards the doorway. "Apparently when Mister Weasley told that Dobby elf we needed to search every room in the castle, he took it literally." He chuckles lightly but there's a sad look in his eyes that gives the lie to the mirth. "From what I can gather elves were chucking students out of beds to ensure Mister Potter wasn't hiding under them."

Albus stops us just by the doorway.

"Minerva, what…" he starts to ask.

Filius interrupts firmly before he can get any further.

"Not now, Albus," he looks directly up at the old wizard who looks so weary as to be decrepit. "A shock has been had by all. Severus, Minerva and Poppy will be taken to the Hospital Wing. Any questions can wait till tomorrow."

"But…"

"No buts, Albus," his tone brooks no arguments, not even from Albus. "Now is not the time. Excuse us."

Filius is correct, he has to send several students out of bed to find out what the emergency was packing back to their dormitories with stern words, but he takes no points. I don't think any of us have the heart for that now. He gently steers me towards one of the Hospital Wing beds and looks at me with such compassion I almost find myself crying again.

"You did everything you could, Minerva," he says gently. "And if you hadn't got that door open somehow, there is no doubt what the outcome would have been in anyone's mind." He smiles sadly. "You are going to have to tell me how you did that you know. But just remember; you, Severus and Poppy are the only reason that boy still has a chance at life."

So why does it feel like there's a hole in my chest that won't go away?


	3. Chapter 3

Many thanks for all the reviews - they are very, very much appreciated *hint hint*. I'm glad you've 'enjoyed' what I've written so far; and hope I haven't caused too many shrink visits! I probably ought to note again, that this fic takes second place to my main running (less triggery) fic _I Did Nothing. _It's much darker and in honesty, I have to be in a certain frame of mind to write it otherwise it wouldn't work. It's always from Minerva's point of view unless I state otherwise and if I decide to do so it will be an entire chapter.

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**Trigger Warnings: Suicide attempt and brief reference to self harm.**

For the briefest of blissful moments upon waking I don't recollect anything and find myself wondering vaguely how I have ended up in a Hospital Wing bed. Only for a single blissful moment though. Then it all comes crashing back down on me in a wave of crushing intensity that I can only identify with Potter; Potter and the troll, Potter and the basilisk, Potter and a mass-murderer, Potter and all of the other completely reckless, self-sacrificing occasions that have nearly given me a heart attack over the years. Harry. Harry Potter. The note. The blood. Severus and Poppy's frantic efforts to revive that frail, white boy lying there so peacefully surrounded by such carnage. Harry. Lily's son making that awful desperate choice that he would prefer to die rather than live. Harry; my brave, generous and strong young lion. Harry; my griffin who has sacrificed so much for so many, who has been through so much and suffered so badly lying there with all that blood surrounding him. Harry; the boy I have failed so badly.

**_Please tell Professor McGonagall not to blame herself; it's not her fault, it's mine._**

My sweet, caring, completely reckless young charge who has defied our expectations time and time again. The boy who saved a girl we had all given up as dead, the child who has defied logic and battled against all the odds from the very moment he stepped within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. The teenager who dealt with the maelstrom of hatred the entire wizarding world was hurling at him when I should have stepped in and helped. Harry; the boy who had to face it all alone. How can I not blame myself? How can I do anything but blame myself? He is one of mine. And he couldn't trust me enough to talk to me. Yet who can blame him. I have to know if he survived. I have to know if our efforts were in vain.

Just as I'm scrambling out of the bed, cursing my old bones solidly once again as I do so, I hear a familiar snarl from across the room.

"Would you just update me on the brat's progress for heaven's sake!? And if you can't then find me someone who can!"

Severus has many talents, but tact and subtlety are not amongst them. He does actually know how to ask nicely, it's just something he does so rarely that he has no practice in the art.

**_By the time you read this I will be dead._**

"I would also like to know how young Mister Potter is faring," I interject more calmly, striding towards the voices. As I approach I can't help but take in the relieved looks that the two young Healers shoot me. "It's good to see you again Maria, Theodore," I nod at each one in turn noting their evident shock that I remember them. "Although, I will admit the circumstances in which we meet again could be far more pleasant. Could you please update me on the status of Mister Potter?"

"We only know what we've been told, Professor McGonagall..." Theodore starts hesitantly.

That is one of the perks and huge downsides of this profession; once a teacher, always a teacher. Half of the witches and wizards currently residing in the county will only ever see me as the stern Professor catching them out in youthful misdemeanours. It doesn't matter how old they are or how proficient they are in whatever discipline they choose; I will always be their Professor.

"Minerva, please," I interrupt smoothly with a gentle smile at the obviously nervous Healer. "It's been many years since I was last your Professor, Healer Singer. Whatever information you have regarding the condition of Mister Potter would be very much appreciated, however scant it may seem to you."

"Of course, Prof- Minerva," the young man continues somewhat less nervously. I've always found addressing previous students by their titles allows them to feel more secure in what they are doing. "We don't have a great deal of information, I'm afraid. The last update we had was that the healers at St. Mungo's had managed to stabilise Mister Potter, but are keeping him under close observation. He lost an extraordinary amount of blood and it is frankly a miracle that he is still alive, but he should survive. Professor Dumbledore has been at St. Mungo's ever since Mister Potter was admitted and has been conversing with the team of Healers assigned to Mister Potter's case."

He's alive then. I feel the tension leave my shoulders and chest in a sudden wave as if there had been an invisible pressure that I wasn't even aware of until it released. He's alive. Harry is alive. I feel myself go faint and must have swayed alarmingly as two pairs of hands were suddenly manoeuvring me gently but firmly and I felt myself being set on a bed as if it was a world away. He's alive. Harry's alive. My boy is alive. The world spins dizzyingly around me for a moment as I'm pushed firmly onto the bed. He's alive.

**_This is the end. I can't hold on anymore._**

"Lie down there for a second, Professor," I hear the voice of Maria as if it is coming from miles away and her hands hold her down to the bed steadily.

"Raised heart rate, low blood pressure, extremely low magical reserves. Possibly an extreme shock reaction with magical exhaustion." Theodore's soft, professional tones seem to be coming from an equal distance away.

"Can you hear me, Professor?" I nod blankly, nod really understanding but knowing some kind of reaction was required. A vial is placed against my lips as my head is tilted slightly and I swallow without even thinking. He's alive. Harry is alive.

"Heart rate is coming down. Blood pressure is stabilising." In some vague part of my brain I sense the relief in that statement, but I can't focus on it for some reason. Another vial is placed to my lips and this time I try to look at it before swallowing. "We're only trying to help you, Professor. You need to drink this." I recognise the sickly taste of Dreamless Sleep mixed with something I'd not so sure of but I can't bring myself to care. He's alive. Harry's alive.

**_Please tell Professor McGonagall not to blame herself; it's not her fault, it's mine._**

I wake up with those same words reverberating through my brain. My boy. My stupid, caring and completely reckless boy. How did I let it get to this? I suddenly realise I'm being watched and I struggle upright, fighting the grogginess that tries to claim me to find Albus perched on the bed next to me. He looks older and wearier than I have seen him look in a long, long time. Actually no, he looked the same after the events two years ago when I think he finally realised that Harry had nearly died; after all the shock and excitement died down he suddenly realised he had nearly lost him. He had the same look then. I doubt very much that anyone has fed him Dreamless Sleep this evening, but despite that he still notes my stirring with a gentle, caring smile.

"Minerva, my dear," he says carefully with that gentle smile still in place. "I do believe you gave Healer Singer and Thorington quite a scare there, you know."

"What happened?" I ask roughly, still not quite able to make my eyes focus correctly or my brain function for that matter. "How's Harry?"

"Harry is going to be fine, Minerva. You don't think I'd be here now if he wasn't, do you?" Albus answers gently, but I've known the man too many years not to see the pain glistening in his eyes. Pain and fear. He is afraid. No matter what he says, he is afraid. "The swift reactions of Severus and Poppy, coupled with your efforts to get that door open saved him. It was..." and here he hesitates for just a fraction of a second, "...touch and go for a couple of hours, but the boy should make a full recovery in time."

"And the house-elves," I say loudly, despite how random it seems. I have remembered the complete army of elves cracking in and out of that corridor, how without Weasley's intervention and the elf Dobby we would have stood no chance of finding the boy until it was far too late. I ignore the looks of concerned confusion from the two Healers, instead focussing on Albus. "The house-elves. Dobby saved Harry more than any of us and Cora gave me the way to get the door open. Without the house-elves we would have been helpless. They saved Harry as much as we did."

"Yes, of course Minerva," Albus smiles at me and again I catch that hint of concern in his gaze. "If you wish to thank that particular house-elf, I would suggest several sets of socks; thoroughly jumbled up together of course. A mis-matched tea-cosy would also go down remarkably well."

He rests his good hand on mine as he looks at me and I realise with a start that it's not just concern for Harry shining in those bright blue eyes. It's concern for me as well.

"But you must rest, Minerva. Whatever you did in that room was certainly impressive; if the house-elves hadn't already woken every single student up, that certainly would have. You could feel it all the way through Hogwarts. But you are not as young as you used to be..."

"Says the man well over a century old who recently went ten rounds with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" I retort indignantly. Albus Dumbledore is a fine one to call anyone old.

"You are of course completely correct," Albus responds solemnly. "I, however, did not take five stunners simultaneously to the chest last year." He looks down at me over those half-moon spectacles of his and I can't ignore the concern in his eyes. "Additionally, from the way Hogwarts responded and what we felt throughout the grounds, I would hazard the guess that you somehow used more magical energy in those few minutes than I used in the entirety of last year." He stops me as I try to interrupt. "That includes my battle with Voldemort, Minerva. Hogwarts does not lie. Old men can of course be wrong, but I do not believe myself to be so this time."

**_And apologise to Professor Dumbledore for me would you? I can't do what he needs, I can't be what he needs. I'm just not strong enough._**

"What did you ask him, Albus?" The line has suddenly come into my mind and I have to ask it, regardless of how inappropriate it seems. But the older man just looks at me with confusion blossoming in those clear blue eyes, so I expand. "Harry. What did you tell him? What did you ask him to do?"

"It's not important, Minerva," Albus says softly, his eyes never leaving mine. "I made a mistake, but it isn't important."

I was about to interject with a sharp remark along the line that it clearly mattered to Harry, it was important enough that he made a point of apologising to you. That doesn't suggest it wasn't important. I wasn't given the chance. I had forgotten that Severus was still in the room. He reminded us both by striding forwards suddenly with a rare fire in his eyes. It's the fire that I have only ever seen when one of his has been hurt, and it usually ends in pain for those concerned.

"Not important?" he snarls viciously, striding towards us ominously. "Tell that to Potter, would you? '**_I'm not a saviour, I'm not a hero, I'm not the golden boy and I can't be the boy-who-lived anymore.'_**_" _Severus has the parchment that Weasley handed me in his left hand, but his wand is held almost threateningly in his right. It's not quite pointed at Albus, but not far off and his eyes are glaring death. Every single internal alarm I have is ringing but I can't do anything but watch. "What did he say?_ '**And apologise to Professor Dumbledore for me would you? I can't do what he needs, I can't be what he needs. I'm just not strong enough.**'"_

Severus looks me straight in the eye for a second before focussing back on Albus, and although I don't know what he is trying to say, I can recognise the pain in his voice and the anger in his eyes well enough. He has read more into Potter's note than I did, so this is in his court.

"That doesn't sound like something that doesn't matter, Albus," he snarls in an almost feral manner. "That sounds like something that tipped The-Boy-Who-Lived over the edge completely. That sounds like it was the final straw." He steps forward threateningly. "What did you say?"

I am completely astounded by the sheer power and ferocity in my younger colleagues tone as much as the way I am at the way he is glaring at Albus with sheer hatred in his eyes. Severus loathes Harry; he has done since the moment the boy walked through the gates wearing James Potters face, but even I will I will admit the man has saved Potter more times than I can count. I have never understood it. But remembering the man's frantic efforts to save the boy I am starting to doubt my previous judgement.

"Of all the things I had expected to encounter in my lifetime, Albus," Severus continues harshly and even I flinch back from the sudden force erupting from him. "Harry Potter slitting his own wrists was not one of them." He is snarling as he strides forward wand in hand, and I find myself having to flash a warming glance at the two Healers to stop them intervening. "What am I missing, Albus? What aren't you telling us?"

"Severus, it -"

"Don't you dare tell me that you have it all in hand Albus!" I don't think I have ever seen Severus this incensed and even I'm reaching for my wand in case things get nasty. His eyes are flashing violently and the aura around him is building forcibly; you'd have to be a muggle not to see the anguish and anger swirling around him. "You were not the one pounding on a sixteen year olds child chest, begging him to breathe! That was not a spoilt child making a bid for attention, Albus. Potter wanted to die and he damn near succeeded. So what am I missing!? The child I thought I knew who not have done that. James Potter would never have even contemplated it. But Potter...Harry, he was desperate and he damn near succeeded. What did you ask him to do?"

**_I know I'm not worth anything. I am nothing. The only thing I'm good at it causing chaos and destruction. You look at me but don't see me. Only Professor Snape sees what I really am._**

And suddenly, I remember the images, the memories that were thrown back at me by that strange presence. The child huddled in a closet, tears streaking down a bruised and battered face with green eyes filled with helplessness and despair. The same child desperately trying to complete scrubbing the kitchen before his relatives got home, terrified of what would happen to him if he failed. The teenager hurled against a wall by someone three times his size, unable to defend himself despite the wand in his trunk. The youngster pulling a blade across his own skin almost lovingly, watching the blood flow in relief, completely alone and isolated when we should have been supporting him. And of course, the young adult watching his god-father fall through a veil, his desperate grief and need to join him when everyone else had deserted him. The images I have of the boy don't immediately fit with the new memories, but looking back over through the years I can see how they fit. This is the boy we let down so badly.

"He was never spoilt, Severus," I say softly. "He was never spoilt. He was beaten and neglected in the muggle world; ignored and stuffed into a closet. He was acclaimed and treated as a hero by the magical world until we all turned our backs on him without any warning. He never had a chance to become James Potter, the muggle relatives beat that out of him and we never even noticed what he was going through. He was never spoilt. He was just a hurting, scared child who has done everything he can over the last years to live up to everyone's expectations but now he's lost too much and was asked to do too much. He broke. We broke him."

Severus' eyes turn to mine and I don't look away. For a minute Albus is forgotten; he isn't there. Both of us can still see the vivid sight of a young boy's blood spilled across the floor as the child lies completely lifeless in front of us. Both of us know the terror that gripped our hearts at the sight of the Boy-Who-Lived lying completely motionless, so white and still in that room. Harry. One of mine. I can see the anguish in those dark eyes almost as clearly as I can feel it in my own heart. We both have a lot to answer for.

"It would make sense," Severus says without the venom that of his previous words. "The lack of respect for authority figures, the inept attempts to kill himself over the years in defence of others. Why should he respect and obey when all that's previously gained him is more pain? Why should he preserve his own life when it obviously means so little to everyone around him?" But his eyes flash again as he looks back to Albus, and I find myself grateful not to be on the receiving end of that glare. "But he'd persevered so far, Albus. What did you say to break him?"

Albus looks down at his feet silently for a long moment, and for a moment I didn't think he was going to respond. But finally he speaks in a voice like cracked iron, looking so weary it is scary.

"I only wanted to prepare him..." he says mournfully. "He needed to be prepared..."

"Prepared for what!?" I find myself snapping harshly without even thinking about it. "The boy knocked out a twelve foot mountain troll, saved the Philosopher's Stone, killed a basilisk, put himself on the line for a man we all believed to be a mass-murderer. Somehow, with the luck of the Gods themselves he walked out each and every occasion with his head held high. He was pitted against students three years older than him in a ridiculous tournament that should never have happened and then watched Cedric Diggory die and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named come back from the dead using his own blood to complete the ritual. He still managed to come out standing, he never let despair take over. He spent a year being mocked and humiliated by the entire wizarding world whilst we stood back doing nothing and then to top it off he watched his god-father die in front of his very eyes. Even then, after everything all he did was to throw some things around your office. But something tipped him over the edge and it was something to do with you, Albus. What did you tell him? What did he have to be prepared for that made him make that choice!?"

Both me and Severus are glaring daggers at our esteemed headmaster as the two Healers shuffle uncomfortably behind us, we are getting answers before this day is out or my name is not Minerva McGonagall. Albus however is uncharacteristically silent. No excuses, no reasons, no answers. Silence.

"Do you not understand, Albus?" Severus bursts out suddenly, taking all of us by surprise. Again, I am shocked by the sheer ferocity in his voice; over the years I have seen the man in various states but this is new. Intensity is pouring out of him in waves. "After everything I have done, you still don't understand. We nearly lost Potter today. You say you love the boy, then show it! If this is what happens when you love someone, I honestly don't know what happens when you hate them." His tone softens and although it keeps all the snideness and anger there's a touch of something I can't quite place. "Potter broke and it wasn't just losing that ignorant mutt that caused it. No matter what else I think about the brat; through sheer dumb luck, friends with more brains than his and a helpful dose of idiotic recklessness he has come through more than most adults do in their lifetimes. Whatever you said to him, broke him. What did you say?"

More silence and I find my temper at the end of its tether.

"Albus Percival Dumbledore," I snap sharply. "You will tell us now or I swear on the bones of Godric Gryffindor himself that I will hang you off the Astronomy Tower by a certain section of your anatomy and leave you there." Albus glances at me slightly as if to judge how serious I am; whatever answer he finds in my eyes causes him to blanche and edge away from me. "I do not make idle threats as you are more than aware. You owe Potter this."

"I told him the Prophecy," Albus says slowly, finally answering me even if I don't understand what he means. "The full prophecy."

I was about to ask Albus to expand when there's a near silent hiss from Severus beside me. I turn to look at him and am shocked by how pale he's become. I have to admit, I nearly called the Healers over before he spoke in a voice that was more of a snarl than anything.

"'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...' That's all I know of it." He looks up sharply. "Am I right, Albus?"

The look on Albus' face is proof enough.

"What's the full prophecy?" My views of Divination are clear to anyone who bothers to ask, but it's clear that both men have put stock in this prophecy and neither are fools. I'd trust either with my life. "Tell me Albus, what is the full prophecy? What did you tell the boy?"

**_I'm sorry. I'm not a saviour, I'm not a hero_**_._

No. You're not. You're a teenage boy and we have put far too much on your young shoulders year after year and just blindly expected you to deal with it. You're a boy with a heart of gold and I should have protected you. For someone with decades of dealing teenagers, I have run appalling interference on this one...and by the sounds of it I should also have been protecting him from a man I trust above all else.

"That's between Mister Potter and myself," Albus seems to rally slightly but is cut off again by Severus.

"No." His voice is harsh. "No, it's not. It stopped being between Potter and you when he decided to open his wrists up in the middle of the night with no warning. It stopped being between Potter and you when I had to pound on the boys chest trying to get his heart to start, Headmaster. It should never have just been between you and Potter."

"I can't..."

"Do you know what it must have taken to open that room, Albus?" I interject acidly. "The Room of Requirement, the house-elf called it. It wasn't just a fleeting fancy that crossed the boys mind, it wasn't something he just vaguely wanted. To open that room he **needed** it. Death was the only option he felt was left." There's a silence as I just look at the man, willing him to understand. "For the love you bear Harry, tell us. Albus, we cannot hope to help him otherwise."

Another long silence and I was just preparing to launch another argument before Albus speaks. But there is no twinkle in his eyes when he does. No twinkle at all.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."_

The silence in the room is absolute but the power is building to almost untameable levels. This is what he told Harry. That he must die or be killed. That the fate of the entire wizarding world lies on his young shoulders. And we wondered why the boy broke. He lost everything and everyone closest to him and then Albus decided to drop that bombshell on him? I want to cry, I want to throw things. I want to hug the boy and I want to throttle the man in front of me.

"Albus..." I can barely restrain my rage when I get a grip on my tongue again. "Albus... You are a confounded fool. Sirius' death may have cracked him badly but you broke him. I hope you're proud of yourself."

I see the tears falling down that old, wise face.

He loves Harry.

But his love has destroyed him.


	4. Chapter 4

Many thanks for all the reviews on this - as per usual they're a huge incentive to write. Thank you in particular to "Harry Albus Potter Dumbledore" who reviewed all three chapters in one go! I would point out, this is a slow moving fic - if you want action there's more of that in _I Did Nothing_. It will get less sad eventually...but this chapter probably doesn't count! I'll work on the principle that if it made you cry then I'm writing well at least!

As I said on my other fic _I Did Nothing _I sincerely apologise for the delay in posting this chapter; I dislocated my right shoulder badly and have been incapable of doing even simple tasks for several weeks let alone trying to think and type at the same time. I hope this makes up for it.

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**Trigger Warning: Suicidal Ideation and references to Self-Harm**

I never thought I'd have to do this. It's not the first time I've been sat waiting for one of my young charges to come round in the Hospital Wing, it's not even the first time I've been sat on the edge of a hospital bed for hours on end and it's certainly not the first time I've been waiting for information on one Harry Potter. Harry Potter; the boy who has spent more time in the Hospital Wing over the last six years than any other student combined. It is however the first time I have been sat, waiting and watching, with such an awful feeling of guilt crushing my chest and making it so difficult to breathe. The boy looks so peaceful lying on that bed and as he is no longer deathly white, he could almost be simply sleeping. Except he isn't. None of us who were present when we found him can even try to forget that. None of can forget the blood which seemed to have spread everywhere or the gaping wounds, now so neatly bandaged. The effect on both myself and Poppy is obvious to see but even Severus is acting differently; there's been no more of his jibes about Potter since that night, no more comparing him to his father. Instead, every time he's passed by the Hospital Wing he's stopped by and despite never asking the question out loud, it is clear in his eyes; _Any improvement?_ The question we all need answering.

I stretch my stiff limbs out before deciding I need to walk around for a bit before I freeze up on this bed completely. Nodding at Poppy as I pass her, I approach the entrance to the Hospital Wing and suddenly catch the murmured whispers outside the door. I can't help the smile that quirks the corners of my mouth. I am not the only one who has kept a near constant vigil over Potter through the last few days and it's been a relief to see that his friends are sticking by him. One of the group is almost always around, often more than that and it doesn't seem to matter how many times Poppy chases them out; they never go far away. Even now, when it's officially past curfew, they're still there. I silently move closer to catch what the group is talking about before I pack them back to their dormitories for the night.

"I just don't understand why he'd do this!" the tear filled and slightly hysterical voice of Granger rises slightly above the other voices. I have to admit, my heart goes out to the girl. She's the best and brightest of the year, in fact she's one of the best I have seen in my many years teaching but this is far beyond her comprehension or her experience. Ever since that troll incident near five years ago now, her Potter and Weasley have been virtually inseparable; she has been by Potter's side throughout everything and is one of the very few people who has never turned on him. This must be absolutely devastating to the girl. "How could he do this to us!? Why didn't he talk to us!?"

There's a long, pregnant silence after her words as no-one knows quite how to answer her question; how can they answer her question when they don't know themselves. I can hear the sense of betrayal running through Granger's tone, loss and guilt yes, but there is also an anger that Potter could even contemplate abandoning her when she has never abandoned him. There's a definite sense of betrayal that he didn't think about anyone else. He didn't tell her, didn't come to her for help, instead decided to take it into his own hands and tried to leave them all forever. The silence stretches on for so long that I was just about to step forwards and announce my presence when the quiet voice of Longbottom stops me before I can take more than a step. There's none of the hysteria that is so obvious in Granger's tone, instead his words are soft but with a touch of urgency that grabs my attention as I lean in closer.

"I understand why he did it." That more than anything stops me in my tracks. It certainly isn't something I'd expected Longbottom to come out with and for a second I wonder whether I misheard the boy. I creep forwards slightly so that I can actually see the group standing outside the Hospital Wing and it's clear that they are just as thrown by his comment as I am. Granger and the Weasley girl are looking at him in horror and the Weasley boy looks completely confused. The only person who doesn't seem fazed is the Ravenclaw girl Lovegood, but then again she is rarely fazed by anything at all. I suppose it's difficult to be fazed by things when you hold a firm belief in the existence of Wrackspurts and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. It's very noticeable that the group which has been keeping the vigil over Potter is the same group which accompanied him to the Ministry of Magic last year; somehow the bonds of friendship had grown stronger than I had realised. "You don't understand because you haven't been there. You can't understand. I can."

"Neville!?" the Weasley girl gasps in shock, and I can't help but understand where she's coming from. "Neville, you can't mean that!"

"I mean it," the boy says firmly with a rare fire to those hazel eyes. Looking at him now, there's something to his expression that makes me believe him, something that screams out that he knows what he's talking about, that he's not exaggerating. "None of you really understand what loneliness is; Hermione, you might have been lonely when you started but since then you've been attached at the hip with Ron and Harry. Luna is probably the only one with a chance of understanding. None of you can comprehend the dark hole inside yourself that you can't fill no matter how hard you try. None you really know what it's like when you are shunned by everyone around you just for being yourself, none of you can understand how it feels to hate yourself every day and night that you're alive simply because you can never live up to the standards you are meant to meet. Because you can never be good enough. How can you hope to understand?"

There's a shocked silence as the boy looks at each one of them in turn and they all flinch backwards slightly, again with the exception of Lovegood whose grey eyes meet Longbottom's unflinchingly. He's right, out of everyone there, she is probably the only one who has gone through the same thing. Filius often ends the year in a complete rage after having to locate pieces of her clothing that the other students have hidden in various areas of the school; he can't abide bullying but as Miss Lovegood won't say anything and the perpetrators are unlikely to step forward by themselves there is little he can do about it. She too knows what it's like being different. Looking back at Longbottom, I'm shocked by how vulnerable the boy looks but also by how old he looks.

"Last year was the first time I have ever felt like I fit in or belonged anywhere and that was only because that Umbridge woman led to the DA being created. It was only because Harry taught it," he continues softly, looking down at the floor once again. "It was the first time I ever felt useful or accepted…"

"It was like having friends…" Luna interrupts dreamily and I can't help the stab of pity I feel at how matter of factly she just came out with such a heart-breaking statement.

"Yes, it was," Neville nods slowly in agreement and it takes all of my will-power not to go over to the group and intercede. I don't think I want to hear what else he has to say, but I don't think I have a choice. "I had nothing before last year; my own House were ashamed of me and believed I should have been sorted into Hufflepuff, all of the Professor's with the exception of Professor Sprout thought I was completely useless – including my own Head of House, and as far as my family were concerned, I was little better than a Squib. Do you know how helpless and completely alone that makes you feel? Do you know how many times I've laid awake at night thinking about it, how to do it and what to leave behind? Do you have any idea how many plans I've made but never actually had the courage to go through with them, to be seen as even weaker than I already am?" His voice cracks slightly and I don't think I'm mistaken that he blinks away tears. "At least Harry had the courage to actually do it which is more than can be said for me."

He falls silent, looking steadfastly at his feet and the rest of them continue to stare at the boy in horrified shock. Myself included. I can't believe just how much I have missed, just how much I failed to see. How many students do we have here who are on the edge of breaking into thousands of fragments that we simply don't notice? How many times have we blithely turned a blind eye to the struggles and challenges our young charges are going through, blindly trusting that everything will work out, never realising just how close to the knife edge we are walking? By the sounds of it, it's something close to a miracle that Longbottom didn't give up long before Harry did; but I don't think it was cowardice that stopped him. Stubbornness maybe, but the fact that he is still standing shows a deep reserve of strength that I doubt the boy even recognises he has. I blink away the tears that have started to form in my own eyes. I have one boy lying in a hospital bed after slitting his own wrists in hopelessness and despair and I have another one of my young griffin's who has just openly admitted that not only has he felt like dying but that he's also made plans to do exactly that and I had no idea that either of them felt that way. I never noticed that two of my sixth years have been slowly breaking since the moment they entered the hallowed walls of Hogwarts. In reality, I never even looked. Once more I start to walk forwards, despite the fact that I have no idea what I'm actually going to say, but again a small voice interrupts me.

"But…but why didn't you talk to someone? Tell someone?"

Longbottom gives a harsh, bitter laugh that echoes down the corridor with ease. I don't like the sound of it; he's far too much of a nice boy to be laughing in that tone. It doesn't fit with the plump, shy and slightly bumbling youngster I see in my classes, it's too hard, too cruel. It's the sound of a much more bitter adult, not the boy I see in front of me. It isn't right.

"Who would I tell?" He asks bitingly. "Who would I talk to? Professor McGonagall? It's quite clear she sees me as a waste of space." My heart clenches further. Is that really the impression I have given to this boy? First Potter, now Longbottom…how many others have I let down so badly? How many others have I failed? "My grandmother?" He snarls fiercely. "The only thing I count for with her is to carry on the Longbottom name and hopefully have a son who is less useless than I am. Even if I died the only thing she'd mourn would be the family name, not me. So who would I talk to? It's not as if any of the other Professors are lining up to give moral support and counselling, Professor Sprout has her own House to deal with and nobody else even noticed me. So should I have spoken to another student? Which one? No-one cared about me." He stops Ginny Weasley as she opens her mouth to interrupt him again. "No. Don't. You might give a toss now, but you didn't two years ago. None of you did."

He looks around the group again before continuing; almost as if now he's started he can't stop, as if this had been building up inside of him for years, silently festering. But now the dam has been breached and everything is spilling over indiscriminately. Somewhere between his fear for Potter and the way he has felt for so many years, all the barriers he had built have been knocked down leaving nothing left to hold the flow.

"Do you have any idea how many suicide notes I have written over the years? How many times I've written the same words over and over and over again? I'm sorry for being so useless, I'm sorry I'm not good enough for you, I'm sorry I can't do this anymore; I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." His voice is getting louder as he goes but there is no mistaking the crack in his tone or the tears hiding behind the surface. I lean on the wall for support as he goes on. "And that's just me; stupid, useless Neville. I haven't done or been through half of what Harry's had to go through; I haven't had the entire wizarding world screaming for my blood and calling me a lunatic for a year, I didn't lose my godfather last summer. _How could he do this to us!?_ Is that what your question was, Hermione? _How could he do this to us?_ Surely the question should be, how could everyone have done that to him? How come he was expected to cope with all that when I couldn't even cope with just being isolated from my own year group? How come no one else cared enough to ask him?"

"That would include you as well though, wouldn't it Neville?"

If I didn't know how much the Weasley boy cares about Potter, I'd have assumed that was just a deliberately cruel question meant to wound, but I don't think it is. He's lashing out, yes, but he's lashing out purely because his best friend is lying in the Hospital Wing after nearly dying and everything Longbottom said rings true. There's more guilt behind that question than real anger; guilt, fear and shame. However, this was too personal to begin with and could easily escalate into something potentially dangerous; emotions are running far too high. Once more I step forwards, intending to intervene before wands are drawn or fists used. Once more I'm stopped.

"Yes," Longbottom replies quietly and I have to marvel at the amount of maturity it showed that the boy was willing to admit that. I really have misjudged this one over the years. "I got lost in the feeling that I finally belonged, that someone wanted me and that I could be useful. I didn't notice just how much Harry was suffering, just how close to giving up he was, and out of all of us I should have been the one to notice. Even when I saw the scars, I still didn't put two and two together; I just accepted his excuses when I should have realised exactly what was going on. I should have done something and I didn't. So yes, I should have noticed, should have asked, should have done something and I didn't."

"Scars?" Granger asks exactly what was going through my head quickly and quietly, as if afraid of the answer. "What scars?"

"That's…that's not something I can say," Longbottom murmurs and again my mind goes back to the images that room hurled back at me. The image of the child with bruises across his face and fear in those clear emerald eyes, but more importantly the image of the teenager contemplating a blade in silence as tears run down his cheeks. The memory of the boy picking it up and running it almost lovingly across his skin, watching as red beads of blood rise from his pale arm with a look of relief on his face, relief that is quickly overtaken by shame and fear. I know exactly what scars Longbottom is taking about, I wish I didn't, but I do.

Finally I get my feet to move; Longbottom's right, that isn't something Potter would want the world to know and if I don't step in now chances are Granger will hound the poor boy until he gives in just to shut her up. Even as I step forwards though, I still don't know what to say. What could possibly be appropriate, particularly when I wasn't intended to overhear any of that conversation let alone all of it? Stepping forwards quietly I say the only thing I can think of.

"I don't think you're useless or a waste of space, Mister Longbottom." As I speak, five heads whip around to meet me, shock reverberating off all of them at the sight of their stern Professor walking towards them. "I never have and I am truly sorry if that is the impression I have given you. That was never my intention."

The look the boy gives me is somewhere between horror that I heard what he had said and disbelief at the words I have just spoken. Gradually fear seems to encroach on his expression.

"How much did you…umm…how much did you hear, Professor?" he mumbles, eyes fixed firmly on his feet.

"Enough to know that Mister Potter isn't the only Gryffindor I have let down sorely over the last years," I say gently, watching as his eyes fly up to mine in confusion. "Enough to know that you need to be able to talk to someone. Would you prefer to talk to me or to Professor Sprout? Or is there someone else you'd be able to trust?"

"I'm fine," he mutters and I bite back my response that he is quite clearly not fine. Anyone who was fine would not have admitted what he just did, even if I wasn't meant to hear it. Anyone who is fine would not be writing suicide notes in secret and planning ways to die as he goes to sleep. That is most definitely not fine. "I didn't mean…"

"Yes you did, Neville," Miss Lovegood's voice appears as if out of nowhere but despite the dreamy look on her face I note she is looking straight at Longbottom, almost as if she can see through him or into him. "You meant every word you said. You bear the scars to prove it." She turned to the other three youngsters. "I think it's time for us to go now. We can come and see Harry again tomorrow." With that she started walking off, the others following more slowly sending concerned glances back towards Neville and myself.

"What scars, Neville?" I interrupt the silence which is growing oppressively long to ask. "What did Miss Lovegood mean by scars?"

I'm hoping my instincts aren't right, hoping it was some kind of metaphorical comment that the girl threw into the conversation so easily, but I don't think it was. There are many things Miss Lovegood can be accused of, but stupidity is not one of them and she seems to have a knack for seeing things which other people miss. Or perhaps it is simply that she is looking whilst others are too busy to notice. The look of absolute terror the teenager shoots me more than confirms my suspicions; if it was merely a spurious comment then there would be no need for that kind of reaction.

"It's nothing, Professor," he mumbles again, shooting a glance at the corridor behind us as if hoping for some kind of rescue. "I'm fine. Honest."

"No, Neville," I state as firmly as I can whilst still being gentle. "You are most definitely not fine. I have made many mistakes and I do not intend to make yet another by pretending to blithely believe you when it is more than obvious that you are anything but fine." The boy looks up at me and I can clearly see the tears he refuses to let fall shining in those hazel eyes. "Would you roll up your sleeves, Mister Longbottom?"

The look he flashes me is one of complete and total fear. Whatever Longbottom is hiding, he's petrified of me finding out and has clearly kept it hidden for a long, long time.

"I'm not going to judge you, Mister Longbottom," I continue slowly and cautiously. "I'm not going to get angry or tell you that you are merely being stupid. I want to help. That I promise you." This time I can see the conflict in his eyes; he wants the support that I am offering, he wants the chance to actually tell someone, to show his deepest fear but he doesn't know if he can trust me. He doesn't know if he dares to. "I don't make promises lightly, Mister Longbottom. You have my word and I don't give that lightly either. You don't even have to show me if you'd prefer not to. I can ask Madam Pomfrey to have a look if you'd prefer."

I'm shocked by how pale the boy suddenly goes; he's almost as pale as the night they found Potter's note and he backs up several steps, protectively clutching his right arm to his body as if I might force his sleeve up. The look in the boys eyes is one of sheer panic as he shakes his head violently, backing himself into the wall completely.

"No," he gasps out. "No."

"Mister Longbottom...Neville," I say with no small measure of concern. "I am not going to force you to do anything you are not comfortable with." I pause slightly, watching the boy carefully. "It might be best if you sit down for a while." Putting my hands gently onto his shoulders I ease him down onto the floor; I could seriously do without him collapsing on me if I can possibly avoid it. "Head between your knees for a moment, Mister Longbottom. Wait there, I'll be back in a second." His gaze flies back to mine, complete panic abundantly clear in his eyes. "No, I am not going to get Madam Pomfrey. But if I find you've moved from that spot before I get back then I will get Madam Pomfrey and I will have her drag you bodily back from Gryffindor Tower." I fix him with one of my sternest glares. "That is also a promise, Mister Longbottom."

That said, I stride firmly back into the Hospital Wing. I'm honestly not sure of how to process everything I've found out this evening, let alone deal with it, particularly so close to nearly watching Potter die.

"Poppy?" I call softly once I'm safely within the Hospital Wing doors.

"Yes, Minerva?" The response is almost immediate despite the fact that our medi-witch has been awake for even longer than I have and must be completely dead on her feet.

"Can you find me a Calming Draft, please Poppy?" I ask without thinking.

Immediately the woman is by my side, suddenly very much the professional medi-witch rather than the friend I've known for more years than I can count as she instinctively grasps my wrist with one hand whilst doing diagnostic scans with the other. Finally she looks up at me with a clear look of confusion on her face.

"What's wrong, Minerva?" she asks, obviously still rather concerned. "If it's just mild anxiety I can get you..."

"It's not for me, Poppy," I cut her off with a smile, watching the relief spread across her face. Thinking about it, I can see why she was so concerned. It's most unlike me to ask for any medication, let alone Calming Drafts or similar concoctions and she's known me too long not to know that. "I have a student outside in the midst of a panic attack and I need to calm him down before I can figure out what to do next."

"Ah, that makes more sense," Poppy comments as she collects her kit together. "Well, we ought to get moving."

"It's not quite as simple as that Poppy," I say calmly as I step in front of her, feeling anything but calm. I can't betray Longbottom's trust, yet I don't want to offend Poppy. "If we're not careful, we may have a second situation on our hands and the boy is loath to trust me as it is. If I bring you, he'll bolt." I smile to take the sting away from my words as I take the Calming Draft from her outstretched hand. "If I need you, I know where you are Poppy."

Going back out to Longbottom it was a relief to find him exactly where he had been sat when I left him; carrying forth my previous promise would have been uncomfortable in the extreme for all of us.

"Drink this, Mister Longbottom," I say, watching as he takes the vial with trembling fingers and downs it in one go. Slowly his breathing becomes more regular and he sags against the wall in relief. From the way he's behaving I would assume this is not the first time the boy has had a panic attack, even if it's the first time in my presence. "How often has that happened, Mister Longbottom?"

"Not too often, Professor," he replies slowly. "Not usually that bad either…"

"And your arm, Mister Longbottom," I return to the subject which caused all this trouble with a certain amount of hesitation. "Are you willing to let me see?"

Even with the Calming Draft, there's a sudden flash of fear in his eyes although it quickly vanishes. The boy is clearly terrified of me finding out, even though it's quite clear I already have a fair indication of what's going on. I've been teaching for too long not to, even if I'd missed it up til now. Somewhere between the paperwork and everything that happened over the last two years I have neglected to keep a close enough eye on my wards. That much is clear.

"You'll think I'm weak," he mutters softly. "You'll tell me I'm just being stupid. That it just shows how useless I really am."

"No, I most definitely will not," I state firmly. "I told you before, I'm not going to judge you Mister Longbottom, I want to help you."

He looks up at me briefly before closing his eyes and slowly rolling up the sleeve of his right arm carefully; it takes a fair amount of determination not to gasp at what's in front of me. Layers of criss-crossed scars decorate the pale skin, some clearly much older than others, with new wounds across them. There's nothing neat about the lines he's carved into himself, nothing ordered or precise; it is a complete web of scars and cuts, deeply etched into his own skin. This isn't a new fad that he's seen and decided to mimic for the hell of it; he's done this for a long time and is clearly quite adept at hiding the evidence. He isn't simply doing it for the attention.

"Well, Mister Longbottom," I say calmly, trying to hide the slight quaver in my voice. "I do believe some of them require medical attention. Would you be willing to see Madam Pomfrey now?" I'm hoping the Calming Draft has done the trick and that won't set him off again. I breathe a sigh of relief as he simply looks up at me and nods. "Right then, up we get."

Just as I'm helping Longbottom to stand, Madam Pomfrey herself appears in the doorway to the Hospital Wing, not blinking an eyelid at the rather strange spectacle of a Professor and student on the floor outside her domain.

"It's Potter," she says excitedly. "He's waking up."


End file.
